


you are cursed

by fitzefitcher



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Garrosh as Icarus, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Jaina as Cassandra, Mythology - Freeform, POV Second Person, Sylvanas as Medusa, Thrall as Atlas, Tyrande as Hippolyta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:11:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4514493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzefitcher/pseuds/fitzefitcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warcraft heroes as heroes of Greek myths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. jaina as cassandra

**JAINA as CASSANDRA:** All of your cities will burn. You spurned your Apollo, the golden-haired son of the king, and now whatever wretched thing that passes your lips is inevitable. It starts with the prince, when you beg and beg for him not to, but still he keeps his fiery gaze on Stratholme, still he will not stay his searing hand. Apollo will cleanse with fire, Apollo will heal with ash, and no one will believe you when you say that the prophet’s blasphemous vision is right. Even when you ferry them across the sea, no one believes your fears, however true you know them to be.  
  
“Don’t,” you plead, and Stratholme burns, Dalaran burns, even your own city burns, once when your father usurps the throne founded on the word of that prophet’s lying tongue, and again when your supposed ally wipes it from existence in a blast of light. Another Apollo, another son of a legend, with golden eyes filled with fire and hate, and when you, possessed by your own fury, try to bring the sea down upon him, the only ally you’ve truly kept all these years, you are stopped, chastised, told you are wrong. But you know, you know this for certain, that the flames of his ambitions must be and will be put out. You are proven right not even a full year later, it taking all you can not to laugh bitterly when the attack is planned. You have always given good counsel, Cassandra, and you have never been heeded.  
  
You’re in Dalaran again, and you can’t help but wonder when this city will burn for a second time. You are Cassandra, cursed by the sun, and all your cities will burn.


	2. garrosh as icarus

**GARROSH as ICARUS:** You are far too familiar with the feeling of drowning. You grew up with the trappings of your father pinned to your back whether you liked it or not, trapped in the prison of his sins. Being pinned in, pushed under the dark weight of something bigger than yourself, is something you’re used to. So when you are raised up, when someone finally takes you out of the labyrinth, it is no wonder that you become drunk with the lust of this newfound freedom.  
  
You cannot seem to, however, quite get out from under the shadow of your father, flying higher and higher with wings you made yourself, but still his shape flickers overhead, still his visage blocks the sun from shining on you instead. No matter what you do- you push the elves back into the forests they wouldn’t share when your people were starving, build your city back up when it burns down, crush the enemies of your people, all for them, all for their approval- everything you do is wrong, because you are your father’s son, because you’re not your father’s son.  
  
All your life, you have been pushed under the depth of your father’s mistakes, propped up by his victories, and there is no breath to be found below the sea nor above the clouds. Your destiny has never really been your own, so it is only natural that when you tire of drowning, and fly so high that you cannot see for how brightly you’re burning, you are pushed further and further into the sun by the ones who freed you in the first place. You are destined to drown, Icarus, but no one can say that it was all your own fault.


	3. thrall as atlas

**THRALL as ATLAS:** This is not your burden, but you will bear it, all the same. The weight of this task feels more punishment than honor, but you cannot deny the command of a dying man, and you cannot deny the expanse of your power, even if the black armor feels like roots wrapping around your ankles, tying you to the earth, while the wind and clouds whip your hair about. This was never something you wanted, but you’ll do it because you have no choice, your people shouting into one ear and the elements hissing into the other.   
  
It’s an odd position to be in, the earth in one hand and the heavens in the other, but you cannot raise one higher than the other just as much as you cannot bring them closer together. Do not flinch, do not struggle under these weights, Atlas, because no one else will catch them if they fall. You make the mistake of thinking well, if you just give one away, if you carry one and someone else the other, just for a little bit while the heavens rage and scream in your grip, then it’d be alright, that your struggle would lessen, but the armor fits no one but you, Atlas. These weights weren’t yours before, but they are now, and it’s your fault when this new bearer of the earth drops it and it cracks. The horde falls apart, and you don’t want admit to the blame, but here you are, holding the heavens in one hand, the elements’ whispers in your ear, and no earth in the other, watching as yet another picks up the pieces. Your power will always be your burden, now and forever, and it will always be used for someone else, never yourself.


End file.
